


i want to stop thinking

by Control_Room



Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-24 17:00:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21821344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Control_Room/pseuds/Control_Room
Summary: thinking got me into this mess
Comments: 3
Kudos: 1





	i want to stop thinking

I want to drive my head into the wall until I cannot think.

Thinking is what always gets me into these problems, anyways.

Thinking of ideas. Ideas do not matter if they are bad ones, and contrary to popular belief, bad ideas do exist in things like me.

Things with no place in the world.

No matter how hard it tries to fit. 

There will always be a jutting edge of the puzzle piece that drives it far away from entering any slot, big or small.

There just is no place for it.

Sometimes one little piece will click, but then things start forming around, and it is realized that the piece in the slot is not the one to be desired, and is thrown away, no longer valuable.

I think, sometimes, that there will be a puzzle that I will fit into just right.

That is not the case. There are too many contradictions, too many gaps, too many jagged curves and cutting edges. Not only is there no place, it is not wanted. It takes up far too much space, and wastes everyone’s time by trying to find a slot of the solitary piece. 

I want to stop thinking.

Thinking is what gets me into this mess.

I try to call out for help, blatantly saying that I will not live if I fail, and those around laugh, knowing it is the good old jokester, the one no one can ever take seriously, because if they would, they would be afraid.

I do not want to think anymore.

I try and hope that I will make or do something of value, but there is nothing I can do for anyone that will make a difference in any form of goodness, only bringing discomfort and disagreement. There is nothing I can do.

I cannot do anything. 

I can hardly move.

My body hurts, and I want to stop thinking. 

I want to stop.

Everything.

I want to tear the world apart with my bare hands, I want to scream, I want people to understand, but there is NOTHING to understand, other than the fact that I am a sad, pitiful, pathetic thing that should never have existed.

I want to be heard, though I have nothing to say.

I have nothing to show, a few measly dollars earned from hours upon hours of work, nothing that will change anything for anyone.

Bad grades, lies and disgusting habits, nothing more than a problem.

I want to stop thinking.

I want to stop existing, droning on and on, being nothing but a blight and a problem.

I cannot do anything right, nor anything at all, in that light.

Writing? Nothing more than a few forced words scraped out of an empty pot of burnt madness, exhaustion following every key, every letter. There is no value to the silent, stupid, stupid, stupid cries for attention from a useless being that cannot do anything at all, that has no feeling attached to the words.

Art? Do you mean scribbles of no worth? That have no impact, no reason, no need, nothing at all? A few pixels on a screen, once scrolled past never seen again, no matter how hard it is to raise the pen to hand, no matter how excited I feel with a new concept, the work of my hands never, ever, ever, and never will, match what I have in my broken mind, for what I seek does not exist, nor do I have any skills to bring it. 

What else do I have?

Oh! 

Nothing! 

Nothing but a hollow body with no soul, only a demon scraping at the edges of what might have once been someone, that is now nothing.

I am so tired.

I want to stop.

I want to drop off the face of the earth, to fall into the cosmos and never have existed.

I do not want to be remembered, I do not want to have existed, because the only memories of my existence anyone will ever have will be of hostility and stupidity.

No one hears, no one listens, because everyone is real, everyone has true problems to deal with, not some pathetic and useless brat’s prattle about the injustice of the world. No, I do not want to be recalled, thinking hurts.

Thinking that I can do something good.

There is nothing I can do.

I have not slept in eleven years, and I will never sleep again.

There is no rest for the wicked, and wicked I am, useless and empty.

Why are you still here?

Why am I still here?

I do not want to be here anymore.

I do not want to think anymore.

I am so tired.

So tired.

I dont wanna think anymore

I dont wanna be anymore

I dont

I cant

I cnat do anyting right

Im sorry

I want to die

I wnat to stop

I want to go

I cant

I’m sorry

I want to stop thinking.

Thinking is what gets me into these messes, anyways.

I wish there was a way to stop being

Stop being pathetic

Weak

Stupid

And start being something good

Something useful, smart, helpful, kind

That is simply impossible, though.

A puzzle piece cannot change its shape because it wants to.

It has a role to play, even if that role is the misfit, the broken, the useless, the unwanted

My eyes were once blue

Theyre green now

An ugly green

The color of muddy spittle on the ground of an unkempt field,

I want to stop thinking

I want to stop

I want it to all end

I wish I could do something

  
  


I’m sorry

Im so sorry

Why are you still here

Please Dont waste your time on me

You deserve better than me, better than what I’ve been through, better than I can offer to you

I’ve used up all my chances.

I’m sorry.

I want to stop thinking.

Thinking got me into this mess, anyways.


End file.
